Winter
by JKDstudent
Summary: Among the criminal underworld, there is a man that all other men fear. A man whose skill in combat is considered to be unmatched, and one that the various mafia groups of Roanapur had agreed never to hire, in the interest of maintaining the balance of power. However, after observing suspicious activity from Hotel Moscow, Chang of the Hong Kong Triad feels forced to break that pact.
1. The Work of a God

**Hello to all who enjoyed this story the first time it was posted. Due to some technical problems, I was forced to delete and re-post this story. All chapters that I had posted up to this point will remain as they were for simplicity's sake, but I strive to bring better quality to the table in future updates.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Black Lagoon. This is not canon in any way, shape, or form.**

 **Another Disclaimer: I do not view my Original Character, Drake Winters, to be a reflection of myself or my personality. He is merely a character concept I created for the fun of it. So whenever the inevitable flames for him come my way, please note the following:**

 **I don't give a fuck. I'm having fun writing this.**

 **Using the term 'self-insert' is inaccurate since the character is intentionally written to not reflect me.**

 **Now with all that out of the way, enjoy!**

A soldier lay flat on his stomach, concealed beneath a thick brush. With a pair of night-vision goggles, he scopes out the area directly beneath the hillside in which he hides, the area where the enemy has set up camp. What were they calling themselves again? Esparda Ardiente? Yes, that was it! It translated to 'the Flaming Sword', or so one of the other members of his employer's private army had told him.

The good thing about fighting it out in this kind of terrain was the abundance of good hiding spots from which to scout the enemy. The bad thing about it was the blistering summer heat. Why couldn't this employer of his approached him for this job six months ago? Colombian warlords always had the most atrocious timing for such things. Oh well, thankfully he had been assigned this task at night, so the heat wasn't as great of a factor. Still though, it was a little too steamy for his liking.

The man is pulled away from his thoughts by motion in the enemy camp. He takes a moment to wipe the sweat away from the lenses of his goggles before checking it out. An officer is moving throughout the camp, barking orders out to the soldiers that cannot be heard from this distance. He sees men rushing around, gathering up their weapons and heading into their tents, presumably to slip into their combat gear. Several of them are putting out the fires. So they mean to make this their last assault, eh? It figures that would be the enemy's next course of action. After all, nearly every battle up to this point had ended in a pretty decisive defeat for them. That is, up until this past afternoon, when the enemy had managed to completely overwhelm the army by calling in reinforcements in ridiculous numbers mid-fight. The army had been forced to retreat, but they lost over half their force in the process. It was only logical that after wiping out so many of the army's numbers at once, the Flaming Sword would try to capitalize on their first great victory in several months by launching an all-or-nothing offensive. Historically, a failure to properly capitalize on a victory had led to long strings of harsh defeats for them.

That huge defeat had been the reason for the emergency squad transfer. The soldier's employer decided his expertise would be best put to use in stifling any further advances from the Flaming Sword in this region.

The soldier whipped out his cell phone and made a call to the phone that he knew would be sitting on the table in the conference room back at base. The head officer of this particular squad preferred the use of a cell phone to communicate, as they were much safer from eavesdroppers than walkies. The man at the head of the table answered it and put it on speaker.

"Go ahead, Mr. Drake." said the officer.

"I've got movement from the enemy camp," the soldier began in a hushed tone. "They're taking down their tents and putting out their fires. They mean to stage one final assault on our camp; all or nothing. They want to capitalize on their huge win from earlier today."

"Thank you very much. Return to camp now; I'll need your expertise in trying to set up a proper defense with our limited numbers."

"On my way." Drake hung up and carefully crawled out from under the brush and made his way back to camp under cover of the night.

Upon his return to camp, Drake beelined to the tent in which the officer was waiting for him to discuss strategy.

"Ah, Drake, there you are." the officer began. He beckoned Drake's attention to a map of the compound he had laid out on the table. "Now, I was thinking that we should set up a defensive line here and place snipers in-"

"No," interjected Drake. "Defending this place successfully is completely hopeless with the numbers they now have over us. We need to abandon this camp and head into the forest. We can ambush them there."

"Are you fucking mental?!" the officer shouted. "This location has entirely too much strategic value to abandon just like that!"

"The 'strategic value' of this camp makes no difference any longer. Either way this goes, this will be the final battle between us and them for control of this whole region. Like I said before, they're preparing for an all-or-nothing assault. Logistically, we still have several hours on them. Organizing such huge numbers takes a lot of time. We need to head into the woods there there's more cover and a greater chance of taking them by surprise. They think they have the element of surprise on us right now, so we need to use that to our advantage."

After a few moments to ponder Drake's words, the officer conceded. "I suppose you're right. Standing our ground here would get us all fucking killed. Well, maybe all of us except you. From what the stories say, you've survived far more fucked up situations."

"I can safely say I've managed to get myself out of a bind or two. But I don't like to talk about my past achievements."

"Yes, but it's those achievements that earn you the big bucks. How much are you getting paid for this job again? Three hundred and fifty thousand U.S. dollars, wasn't it?"

"You know it's against my personal policy to talk about my pay rate while on the job."

The officer chuckled lightly. "Yes, I forgot. Sorry. Anyways, we should get the men up and at it. We have a war to win."

After a few more minutes discussing the details of the plan, Drake and the officer proceeded to rouse the soldiers from their slumber and get them organized, with Drake returning to his tent to grab his trusty CQB rifle, the G36C. Within thirty minutes, the entire squad had geared up, loaded their guns, and left the camp to take up positions in the thick woods. Drake stressed the importance of them leaving footprints behind so as to lure the enemy towards their ambush. On the way into the woods, Drake and the officer briefed the troops on the plan of attack. Once the men were deep enough into the forest, Drake had them fan out in twenty-man teams and take up positions of cover in the thick brush.

Roughly three hours later, the sound of the Flaming Sword arriving at the empty camp echoed throughout the area. It wouldn't be long now.

Several minutes later, a small team of Flaming Sword troops happened upon one of the army's teams. A small firefight broke out, and the remainder of the Flaming Sword rushed in to offer aid. The army, however, stayed put for just a moment. Every team waited until the gunfire comletely died out and then moved in. The plan worked perfectly. The Flaming Sword outnumbered the army three to one, and yet they found themselves surrounded by the smaller force. It was a massacre. Pinned down, the Flaming Sword struggled in vain to break free of the stranglehold imposed on them by the army. While the enemy did manage to once again cut the enemy force down in numbers by half, they were almost entirely wiped out in the process. By the time Flaming Sword surrendered, there were but thirty men left to the army's two hundred. The prisoners were then tied up and lined up in front of the army. The officer asked Drake what they should do with the prisoners, to which Drake replied,

"What prisoners?" He then pulled his Beretta M9 from its holster and fired one round into each of their heads, stopping exactly halfway through to reload his gun with another 15-round clip.

"That was hard to watch, even for me." the officer told him.

Drake simply shrugged. "Well, taking no prisoners is what earns me the big bucks, as you say. Besides, those limpdick fuckwits had it coming to them for letting themselves get beaten so easily."

"Yes, I suppose that's also how you earned your legendary nickname; The God of Mercs."

Over the course of the next several months, Drake's affinity for battle strategy and merciless demeanor won his employer's private army many important victories, and before too long, the Esparda Ardiente was no more. Having fulfilled his end of the contract, Drake approached his employer at the man's personal compound for his payment of three hundred and fifty thousand US dollars. When the Colombian drug lord refused, Drake embedded a Ka Bar into his skull and mercilessly slaughtered all of his soldiers and servants within the compound. He then proceeded to blow open the late drug lord's safe and stuff his duffel bag with five hundred thousand dollars. He would have taken more, but the bag became too full. The God of Mercs then took his leave, heading straight to the airport in his dead boss's Rolls Royce.

Several hours later, he was back home in Miami, Florida. Three months passed without incident.

Drake was sitting at home, cleaning out his M9 when the phone rang. He put down his gun and went to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hello," a voice replied on the other end. "Am I speaking to Drake Winters?"

"Depends on who's asking." Drake replied. The voice sounded eerily familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

"This is Chang of the Triad. Ring any bells?"

So that was it! "Long time no talk. To what do I owe the pleasure of a direct phone call from Mr. Chang himself?"

"I got a job for you. Remember Balalaika?"

"The Ivan from Hotel Moscow? Yeah, what about her?"

"Well, she's been trying to stir up trouble here in Roanapur. I think she's trying to mess with the balance of power here and I won't have it."

"So you want me to go against Hotel Moscow for you?"

"Not necessarily, I just want you to come here to Roanapur and be on call in case she does something... drastic."

"I suppose that wouldn't be so bad, Mr. Chang. I haven't been to Roanapur in over a decade; it might be nice to come back, at least for a little while."

"Good to hear. Now, about your payment..."

"Well, Mr. Chang, as you know, the services of a god don't come cheap. Normally I'd ask for at least two hundred thousand up front for something like this, but for you, I'll do it for half that."

"A hundred grand? Gee, I dunno, Drake, let me check my piggy bank."

"A real wisecracker, as always. So do we have a deal?"

"Absolutely. We'll discuss the details once you get here. Thanks a million, Drake. You're really doing me a favor here."

"Nah, favors don't get you paid, Mr. Chang. I'll talk to a buddy of mine, see if I can't get a flight arranged."

"No need, my boy, I've already got that covered."

"Oho, so you were expecting me to accept this job, then?"

"Given our history, I was sure hoping so."

"Alright then, just tell me where to be so I don't miss my ride."

"Head to the dock where we used to meet up at night back when I operated out of Miami. Tomorrow night at midnight, there'll be a plane waiting for you there."

"Got it. I'll see you in a bit, Mr. Chang. I'm gonna go pack now."

Drake hung up. He smiled. This was going to be fun, he could already tell.

After a few minutes of packing, Drake headed towards the front door of his apartment, stopping only for a brief look at a photograph from twelve years prior. Depicted was his twenty-seven year old self in his combat gear, smiling alongside a young girl of fifteen years with plum-colored hair and a freshly inked tribal tattoo on her right shoulder.


	2. The Ivan Inquisition

A small plane flew over the waters of the South China Sea, with Roanapur as its destination. Then the pilot received a message in his headset.

"This is H.K.T three, state your business, over."

Drake Winters sat in the back, only able to hear the words of the pilot.

"Yes, sir. I'm en route to Roanapur, over."

...

"But, why? I thought you needed him in the city, over."

...

"Understood. We're on our way, over."

Drake raised an eyebrow. The pilot turned around and began speaking loudly to ensure he could be heard over the plane's engine. "Hey, Winters, Chang just told me there's a change of plans. I'm rerouting to drop you off in Taiwan. You'll meet up with the boss himself there for further instructions."

"Understood. Did he tell you why the sudden change of plans?"

"Not a clue. I just carry people to their destinations for him, I don't get told any of the big stuff."

Whatever it was, it was enough to coax Chang himself out of Roanapur to meet Drake in Taiwan. He could alrady tell that this was going to be big.

Two weeks after landing in Taiwan and receiving his instructions from Mr. Chang, Drake had already been forced to eliminate two six-man squads from Hotel Moscow. He was still in the dark about what the Russians had come for, but whatever it was, it was stored away in the old warehouse he frequently got stationed at for patrol. It was boring work most of the time, just patrolling and watching out for Ivans, but when they did come to retrieve whatever it is they were after, it was defintely entertaining. The Russians were very skilled, and each fight with them cost Chang at least a dozen men. But once Drake got to the battlefield, that was it.

On days where he was assigned night watch, the God of Mercs found himself questioning his old friend Chang's motive here. He had already left Taiwan and returned to Roanapur, but he would have to get some answers next time they met. If there would be a next time, that is. These Russians were sharp little tacks, and Drake was getting on in years. All it would take is one slip, one error, and Hotel Moscow would shred him with bullets.

Drake used to be perfect, completely untouchable in a fight. He was fast, ruthless, and cunning, and he never made mistakes or did anything that would give his enemies the upper hand. But that was when he was young and in his prime. These days, the 39 year old found himself slowing down, the decades of constant fighting finally catching up to his body. He couldn't retire, though. Not yet.

The sun was beginning to poke out from the horizon. Not too long till daylight, and the end of his shift. He wondered what was going on with Chang in Roanapur right now?

Lyrics to a metal song blasted out of the earphones of Revy's walkman, but she could not hear them since they were no longer in her ears. She Lagoon Company's gunslinger was sound asleep in her bed, blankets in disarray, completely naked save for a pair of gray panties and matching bra. Then came the knock on the door.

"Revy, wake up! Dutch says we have a job!" came Rock's voice from the other side.

Rock's voice barely even registered. Revy shifted slightly but remained asleep.

The knock again. "Revy, come on! I don't want to have to come in there."

Last time Rock had barged into her room, not only was Revy completely naked (summer heat in Roanapur can be brutal), but she snapped awake, mistaking Rock for an enemy soldier at first and nearly putting a bullet between his eyes.

Again, Rock's voice barely registered, but it was enough this time. Revy's eyelids slowly moved away, and her eyes adjusted to the light to allow her to see clearly. She was aware of her surroundings now, at least.

Another knock. Revy sighed. She liked Rock well enough, and thought of him as a friend and teammate, but damn he could be an irritating little shit sometimes.

"Revy, wake up! We have a job to do!"

"Alright, I'm up!" she called out. "I'll be down in a minute."

She sat upright at the edge of the bed, looking around her bedroom. Same shit, different day. She slowly rose to her feet and proceeded to her dresser drawers to get dressed. She ran a brush through her hair and put it up in a ponytail, brushed her teeth, threw on some deodorant and headed downstairs to see what all the fuss was about.

"I'm here, did I miss much?" she asked rhetorically upon seeing Dutch and Rock in the living room.

"No, you haven't missed anything yet, two-hands," came a familiar voice. "You're just in time."

Revy glanced across the room to see Balalaika sitting on the couch opposite her co-workers. To either side of her stood two bodyguards holding AK-47's in the down-ready position.

"Now that everyone is here, save for Benny," she continued, "I suppose we can begin."

"So," began Dutch, "what's this new job you have for us today, ma'am?"

"No need to be so formal, Dutch," replied the Russian. "You see, I have a large shipment of weapons waiting for pickup at a port in Taiwan from an old contact of mine, but they refuse to come near this city. And the real problem lies in the fact that I've sent men out to retrieve this shipment twice now, and both times we've completely lost contact with them."

"So you want to hire us to go get it since we're disposable, is that right?" asked Rock.

"That, and whoever is causing my men to drop off the grid likely won't recognize your boat. I'd also like you to figure out what happened to the men I sent out there, if you can. It's not required, but I'll add a 50% bonus to your pay if you do find out."

"Speaking of pay, this sounds like an 11 out of 10 on the potential danger scale," said Dutch. "So we'll be asking quite a hefty sum for the risks involved. Seventy grand."

Balalaika thought about it for a moment. "Sure, seventy thousand sounds just fine. and that also means you'll get an extra thirty-five thousand if you come back with info on my men."

"No promises on collecting the info," replied Dutch. "but we'll get you your weapons."

"I certainly hope so, Dutch."

"Come to think of it," Rock chimed in. "Why not just get your weapons shipment from the rip-off Church? I'm sure you would have gotten them by now."

"Yes, about that," replied Balalaika, "a few months ago, we had a transaction that went... sour, for reasons I'd rather not explain, and myself and Yolanda agreed that it would be best if we didn't do business again for awhile until the dust settled."

"Alright, sis," said Revy, "Now all we need is the location of the port and the company you got the weapons from."

Balalaika stood up and reached into her pocket, producing a folded piece of paper. She handed it to Dutch. "This should contain all the necessary information to retrieve my weapons." she started towards the door, her guards staying right behind her. "Now, if you don't mind, I've lingered here long enough. I have other business to attend to."

"Go on, then. Enjoy your day, sis."

"I somehow doubt I have too much joy in store for me today."

After Balalaika's departure, the trio was silent for a moment. Then Rock broke the silence. "You realize Benny isn't gonna like this one bit when he gets back and hears about this."

"Yeah," replied Dutch. "I know. But he'll get over it once he hears how much we're getting paid."

"Do you plan on poking around for info on her boys that she sent out there?" asked Revy.

"For a hundred and five grand total, I think it's worth snooping around a bit, yeah. But if we don't find anything quickly, we'll pull out before anyone starts getting suspicious of us."

"Sounds like a plan."


	3. Let's go Motorboating

Things were looking great for Mr. Chang of the Hong Kong Triad. He stood behind the window of his third-floor suite, overlooking the city of Roanapur. The city lights that came on after dark had a strange beauty to them, and if one didn't know better, one would almost think this wasn't a city rife with drugs, gangs, prostitution and murder.

Now that he had Drake on the payroll, it was all but guaranteed that Hotel Moscow would be unable to get their hands on that weapons shipment in Taiwan. Which was good news for him; the only reason Balalaika would try and get that many weapons into the city itself was to start up another power struggle, and that didn't sit well with Chang. He liked Roanapur the way it was, and he certainly liked the equilibrium he and the other big Mafia leaders had established. He could only guess at Balalaika's motives for trying to gain total control of the city, but motives didn't really matter at this point. No, all that mattered was maintaining the current status quo.

"I just don't get Balalaika," he said out loud to no one in particular. He was alone in the room. "I mean, we spent so much time and so many lives coming to a peaceful arrangement, and it's been working out great for everyone since. All the crime syndicates are free to do whatever they wish within their own piece of the city; none of our men go out and try to kill each other; everyone can easily obtain whatever weapons, drugs, or hookers they need.

"Why then, Balalaika? Why do you insist on disturbing the peace we've created? Bah, no sense trying to figure out her reasoning; she's just a psycho bitch with a god complex, I guess. Just has to be in control of everything..." his thoughts trailed.

"Speaking of control, I should call in and see if Drake and my men still have everything under wraps on their end. Bet he's already taken out several of Hotel Moscow's boys."

Chang reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone and dialed Drake. After a few rings it answered, and immediately Chang was worried. For a few moments, all he could hear were gunshots. Then finally Drake's voice came through the speaker.

"Mr. Chang, you have the worst possible timing. We have a bit of a situation here." Then Drake began barking out orders, presumably to the men that he was with at that time. "EVERYONE GET BACK, WE HAVE SNIPERS. GET BEHIND COVER NOW!"

More gunshots. Having heard enough, Chang hung up.

"Welp, that's certainly distressing."

The signature torpedo boat of the Lagoon Company drew many uncomfortable stares from workers and sailors as it pulled into the dock. As Dutch jumped down onto the dock and tied the boat up, many people scattered in a not-so-subtle attempt to avoid him.

"What's the matter with them?" Revy wondered aloud from the deck. "They never seen a torpedo boat before?"

Dutch smirked at her little joke. "Something tells me it's not the boat they're wary of."

Revy jumped onto the dock.

"Yeah, well, whatever the case, we oughta-"

Revy was interrupted by the sudden sounds of gunfire in the distance. Something was going down.

"Uh, hey, Dutch?" Revy pointed northwest. "That area over there is where the gunshots are coming from. Please tell me that isn't where Balalaika's warehouse is?"

Dutch pulled out his map to verify. He sighed. "I'm afraid that's exactly where the warehouse is, Revy."

"Great." She pulled out her phone and dialed Rock. He was inside the boat, but she didn't feel like climbing back up just to tell him in person. After a few rings, he picked up.

"Revy, what's up?" he asked.

"There's already gunfire in the area, Rock. You and Benny jsut stay put in the boat. Me and Dutch will go on ahead and see what's going on."

"Understood. Thanks, Revy." He hung up.

She turned to her employer. "Alright, Dutch. Ready to go?"

Dutch started climbing back on deck. "Lemme grab my shotgun real quick and I will be."

Drake disliked situations like this. He and all his men were currently pinned down by a constant barrage of suppressive fire from a line of Hotel Moscow troops wielding AK's. Drake himself had taken cover behind a humvee and the rest of his allies were behind sandbags or stacks of wood logs. No doubt the enemy soldiers were slowly closing in. And then, when a couple of his men got brave and peeked out to fire back, they got their heads blown off by snipers. Still, it was nothing he hadn't been through before. And at least this time they had the advantage of a huge warehouse building to work around for cover. He signaled two of the other men nearby to follow his movements. They crept along the side of the building, using the ridiculously thick brush and vines to hide their movements from the snipers. Eventually, they made it to the rear of the building. Just in time, too, as the screams of the other men rang out, accompanied by the sound of AK-47's being fired. It was unlikely that the enemy was able to get an accurate count on their forces, so for the moment, they had the element of surprise.

Still, it was three of them against, by Drake's count, roughly twenty of the enemy forces. This was not looking good. The small group of surviving troops found a ladder that led up to the rooftop. With a boost from one of the men, Drake kicked it down and let his companions climb up first, then climbed up himself, raising it back up and resetting its position to hide the fact that it had been used.

"Search for survivors!" he heard one of the Ivan soldiers shout.

Drake looked to his remaining men and whispered, "I'll keep an eye on the ladder in case anyone comes up. You two keep watch over the enemies on the ground."

The men nodded and crept towards the edge of the roof. Drake drew his M9 and pulled a silencer from his pocket. He laid flat on his stomach, facing the ladder. He then attached the silencer to his gun and aimed it directly above the ladder, ready to put a round in any heads that might poke out.

After several uneventful minutes, he heard the same voice from earlier giving out more orders. "Alright men, it's all clear; let's get our shipment and get back to the boat. You, prepare the forklift. You, get that big door open. Everyone else, stay alert just in case we missed something."

Oh, you missed one helluva something, Drake thought to himself. He felt a tap on his shoulder. It was one of his men.

"Your orders, sir?" he asked.

"Stay here for now. We wait until they leave with their package, then we follow them to their boat and sink it."

"Understood."

Eventually, the troops from Hotel Moscow got into the warehouse and loaded up their package onto the forklift, then proceeded downhill towards the dock. Once Drake was sure they were out of earshot, he and his two companions scaled down the building and prepared to pursue.

Revy and Dutch were running as fast as they could to the area they heard the gunfire from, but eventually they noticed something strange.

"Hey, Dutch, hear that?" Revy asked.

"Yeah, or rather I notice I'm not hearing anything anymore." he replied.

"Think the fighting is over?"

"Maybe. But you never know with these types. Let's keep going, but slowly, and quietly."

"Agreed."

No sooner had they started proceeding again than Hotel Moscow soldiers could be seen making their way down the hill, carrying a huge box on a forklift. Apparently, they were too late, and the soldiers had already gotten what they came for.

"Yo!" Dutch shouted, waving his shotgun in the air to get their attention.

The captain ran down to meet them. "Lagoon Company. Balalaika send you guys for backup?" The captain motioned to his men and they began walking as they talked.

"Yeah, she didn't want any more of her men going down for this, so she hired us 'cause we're disposable." Revy replied.

"Well, you've come a little too late, I'm afraid. We've already beaten the enemy and gotten our package that they were guarding. Honestly, I have no idea how the squad that came before us got beaten, these guys were pathetic."

"Wait, squad? Singular?" Dutch inquired. "Balalaika said she sent two squads here to try and retrieve her shipment and lost communications with them."

"Yeah, the fuckers placed jammers all around the area. No transmissions could get in or out. We were on our own as soon as we got here."

"Speaking of those fuckers, any idea who they were?" Dutch asked.

"Looked like a bunch of dipshits from the Hong Kong Triad. Chang's men."

Dutch whistled. "Your boss lady is gonna be real pissed when she hears that."

"Oh yeah, I'm expecting bombings to happen. At the very least."

Revy laughed. "Yeah, let's just hope se doesn't end up taking her anger out on our part of the city, eh, Dutch?"

"Amen to that. I'd prefer having a home to go back to. We just finished rebuilding the dock after Greenback Jane, I damn well want it to stay rebuilt for awhile."

Unbeknowst to Dutch at the time, Balalaika's anger was the least of his worries.

Drake took a quick inventory. His G36C he kept slung over his back was fully loaded with 3 extra magazines on his person, the Beretta M9 in his thigh holster a full clip with 4 spares, and the AA12 shotgun he had recovered from the bodies of one of his men had a full drum. He also had 3 frag grenades and 2 flashbangs on his belt, and an M79 grenade launcher with one in the chamber, just in case things got out of control. He wasn't about to let those Ivan fuckwits leave port alive. Not after blazing through the warehouse area and killing his men that Chang had left him with. He had ordered the other two to stay behind. No need for them to go in and get killed as well.

Silently tearing down the trail and using the thick brush as cover, he made his way back down to the dock, where he spotted Hotel Moscow loading their package onto the dock. There was also another figure he didn't recognize from earlier. Wait... was that Dutch? And he was helping the Ivans.

"Sorry, Dutch," he mumbled to himself. "I know we have history, but I can't show mercy to those who try to keep me from getting the job done."

Drake moved swiftly and silently towards the boat. He stopped just before the line of foliage ended and hid behind a tree. He thought for a moment about how to approach. He peeked out from his hiding spot for a moment and spotted a ladder built into the side of their ship. That would be his ticket on board. Now to figure out how to use the weapons he was carrying. He could see the control room through a window. He would have to use the grenade launcher first and fire it into there. That would prevent them from being able to leave and free up his left hand so he could use the shotgun properly. But the issue with that was that he would have to get in range of their fire. He took a look around. He spotted a small motorboat he could hide behind in the water. He was certain he could land that grenade shot from there. After checking to ensure there was no one on the deck of Hotel Moscow's boat that could spot him, he made his way towards the dock.

Seeing someone so heavily armed casually striding towards them frightened all the dock workers enough that they turned and ran. Really, thought Drake.

"I guess after seeing the Ivans come through here, they're expecting a fight to break out now that I'm here." Drake said to himself. Oh well, that just meant he had unrestricted use of that motorboat.

He tossed the AA12 in the boat and dropped into the water. Grabbing the edge of the boat, he pulled himself up and took aim. As he was lining up the shot to fire into the Ivan boat's control room, he heard its engine roar to life. He was out of time. Trusting his instincts to see him through, Drake adjusted his aim briefly and fired.

The blast rang through the entire dock area, and after the explosion subsided, Drake listened carefully. The engine had stopped. Success! Now to follow up. dropping the now empty grenade launcher into the water, he glanced over to the ladder briefly and grabbed the AA12 with his right hand. He took a deep breath and submerged.

After a short swim, he reached out and grabbed the first rung of the ladder, pulling himself up. Swimming was harder than it used to be for him, especially with all his gear weighing on him. Already he could hear the cacophany of several different voices at once. Nestling his shotgun between his legs, he produced some earplugs from his pocket and put them in his ears, then pulled a flashbang from his belt. Pulling the pin, he let it cook in his hand for a moment before tossing overhand onto the deck. The muffled sound of the handheld explosive reached his ears just as he got his shotgun back into his hand. He climbed the rest of the way on board and after taking a brief moment to ensure the AA12 was indeed set to full auto, he began mowing down everyone on deck with a barrage of shotgun blasts.

Once he was certain no one was left alive, the God of Mercs took a quick survey. Dutch wasn't among the bodies. Either he was below deck, or he had gone back to his torpedo boat. Either way, Drake couldn't worry about it now. He had to make sure everyone on this ship understood why it was that he was called a God.

The distant sound of a flashbang going off echoed through Lagoon's torpedo boat.

"What the fuck was that?!" shouted Dutch. He looked over to his employee in the crop top and booty shorts.

"Revy, that came from Hotel Moscow's boat. Let's go check it out." He opened communications on his earpiece. "Benny, me and Revy are gonna go see what that noise was. If we're not back in ten, you know how to operate this thing. You and Rock get outta here and we'll catch up."

Benny's voice came through the other end. "Gotcha, Dutch, You two be careful out there."

Revy was already excited. "Awww yeah! I was hoping for a good shootout today!"

Dutch gave her a concerned look. "You get way too happy at the thought of killing people, you know that?"

Drake made his way below deck where five more of Hotel Moscow's soldiers were waiting. He knew he had used up seven shots out of his twenty-round drum, so that left thriteen. Plenty before he would have to pull out his G36. Taking cover behind a corner while the Ivans laid out a wall of suppressive fire, he was cooking a frag grenade for them. He gave it a toss when the time was right and it went off before they could react to it. He heard three screams of agony. He wheeled out of cover and exterminated the remaining men with one blast each from the AA12.

Ten shots left.


	4. Not-So-Pleasant Reunions

Revy and Dutch stood at the door leading to the interior of Hotel Moscow's boat, the former wielding her trusty Berettas and the latter toting his shotgun. The scene before them was unlike anything they had ever seen before. Seven of Hotel Moscow's best soldiers lay dead at their feet, undoubtedly slain by this unknown intruder. The few that didn't have their chests ripped open by shotgun blasts had their heads blown away, and almost the entire deck was painted crimson with their blood.

"This guy took down a whole bunch of Balalaika's men by himself. Who do you think we're up against?" asked Revy.

"I have a few guesses, each less likely than the last. But let's not dwell on that now. We can't afford to fail this job and disappoint the boss lady, so we need to bring this guy down and deliver the package safely."

"Yeah, I know that. I just have a weird feeling I haven't felt in a long time..." replied the plum haired gunslinger. "It's almost... it's almost like fear. I think I'm getting scared, Dutch. I haven't felt scared since... well, since I was a kid in New York."

Revy feeling fear? That was uncharacteristic of her, to say the least. "You're not gettin' cold feet on me, are ya, two-hands?"

"Nah, I'm still goin' in. I just can't shake this bad feeling in my gut."

"Alright then. You ready?"

"As ready as someone literally shaking in their boots can be."

Only six shots left. Drake had forgotten to account for the noise of the shotgun blasts attracting more men to the deck. What an amateur mistake, he thought to himself. He must be getting old. Still, he had some reserve ammo before he would have to throw away his best close-quarters weapon and use his rifle.

He heard footsteps rapidly approaching the corner of the hallway ahead. The footsteps fell too rapidly to get a read on their numbers, but judging by the sound of the pistols on their hips, there must have been about five men. The hallways of this boat were quite narrow, so it was totally feasible to take out multiple foes with one blast from the AA-12. Better yet, a frag grenade could potentially take them all out at once. Drake ducked behind a nearby corner and pulled one from his belt.

The sound of footsteps stopped. They must have turned the corner. Drake pulled the pin on his grenade. They started again, more slowly. Drake counted down till detonation. Five... Four... Three... Two... He threw the handheld explosive around the corner towards the footsteps. One...

Boom.

Screams of pain followed by silence. Drake switched his AA-12 to his left hand, drew his Beretta M9, and cautiously emerged from his hiding spot.

The sound of metal sliding around on the ground hit his ears and he reflexively turned and aimed his pistol at the source of the noise. A single enemy soldier laying on his stomach managed to survive the blast, although his gun arm was riddled with shrapnel and drenched in blood. He was attempting in vain to lift his gun and fire on Drake. The mercenary advanced towards the weakened soldier, putting away his pistol and pulling his Ka-Bar knife from its cover hanging from his belt over his back pocket. With a single motion, he planted his knife in the back of his enemy's neck, severing the spine and killing him.

Dutch and Revy advanced slowly down the hallway. They had barely set foot into the boat's interior before the sound of an exploding grenade resonated throughout the halls.

"So, the fighting has already started in here," remarked a nervous Revy.

"Yeah," replied her employer. "And judging by how big those shotgun holes in those other guys were, our opponent has the upper hand in these narrow halls. We should be careful."

The hallway came to an end and split into two paths, left and right.

"I think we should split up, Dutch."

"Are you crazy, Revy? If we come across the enemy, we'll stand a better chance if we stick together."

"Look at what this guy has done by himself, Dutch. Neither of us are as skilled as Hotel Moscow's troops, and he's already beaten seven of them, probably more after that grenade blast we heard earlier. If we run into him, we're dead regardless of our numbers. There's no sense in both of us dying here, so we need to split up. If we get lucky, one of us will find the package before we find him."

Dutch didn't want to admit it, but Revy was right. "Alright, two-hands. You take the left, I'll take the right. Good luck to both of us."

"If you see the enemy, just run. There's no way either of us could walk away from a fight with him alive."

"I thought I was supposed to be the one who gave orders, Revy? I am your boss, after all."

"You know my battle instincts are better than yours, boss. Just trust me on this or you'll end up just like the boys on the deck. I don't want my source of income to end up six feet under."

"Fine then. If I see him I'll retreat. You do the same."

"Of course. As much as I like Balalaika, no way in hell am I willing to die for her stupid fucking package."

"Back to the swearing, Revy. Sounds like you're starting to get some of your nerve back."

"Shut the fuck up, Dutch. Let's do this."

"Right."

The two set off down their assigned paths.

Drake Winters was having a splendid day. Sure, it had started out rough; having been forced to lose the firefight earlier in the day had put a damper on his mood, but tearing through the soldiers that had earlier suppressed him from acting and killed boss Chang's men was definitely a great way to end off the day. Four more of Hotel Moscow's troops had fallen before him, but there was still no sign of the package he needed to recover.

Two more soldiers rounded the corner. Perfect. He had two shots remaining. Before the new enemies could take aim, Drake had fired on them. That was the advantage of a shotgun in narrow hallways: Firing in the general direction of your target got the job done and was faster than having to aim down a sight. The two soldiers fell to the floor, blood gushing forth from the large holes in their chests. Drake carefully used the parts of his fallen foes that weren't soaked in blood as stepping stools. He didn't want to leave any bloody footprints to lead potential threats right to him.

Out of ammo on the AA-12. Too bad. He tossed it aside, drawing his Beretta M9 and his Ka-Bar. He held the Ka-Bar in reverse in his left hand, and held the Beretta in his right, aiming forward and resting his right hand on top of his left wrist.

The infamous mercenary continued down the hallway for a bit, stopping when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. As far as he knew, all of Hotel Moscow's squad had boarded, so the only person that would be coming in behind him was Dutch. He had hoped that it wouldn't come to this.

Drake ducked into one of the rooms nearby and waited for Dutch to pass by. He would at least make his old friend's death quick and painless.

Slowly the footsteps got louder and louder, until eventually he heard them pass right by and then slowly begin to fade. Drake quietly opened the door. Yep, it was definitely Dutch. At the last second, however, one of the door hinges squeaked. Immediately alerted, Dutch wheeled around and fired.

Drake ducked behind the wall as soon as he heard the squeak. Then came the shotgun blast. He felt the vibration of the round's impact with the wall. This was his chance to close the distance.

Damn. Dutch had missed, and now he was open. The unknown assailant burst though the doorway, rushing towards Dutch with almost uncanny speed. Knees bent and almost doubled over. Dutch cocked his shotgun, but it was too late. The enemy had gotten to him. Just as Dutch began to squeeze the trigger, the assailant straightened up and spun around so he had his back to Dutch. With his left arm, he knocked away the shotgun and with his right, delivered a hard spinning back elbow to the face. Dutch stumbled, but regained his bearings quickly and countered with a front kick to the gut, knocking his opponent back in order to put enough space between them for his shotgun to be effective again. As he attempted to bring it up to aim, Dutch hesitated when he noticed his enemy's right hand closed around his handgun in its holster. Stalemate. Then Dutch got a good look at his opponent's face.

"Drake?"

"Yeah, Dutch, it's me. How's the business?" replied his old friend.

"Doing well. So you were the outsider hired by Chang?"

"Indeed I was. He's become increasingly mistrustful of Balalaika's actions, particularly the rate at which she's been moving weapons into Roanapur, so I was hired to slow her down until he can get together a large enough force to stop her outright."

"But aren't all of Roanapur's big crime lords forbidden from hiring you by their truce treaty? After all, one crime syndicate having the single greatest soldier of our time on their side would tip the power scales way in their favor."

"Yeah, well, that just shows you how untrustworthy she is in the eyes of boss Chang. The man most interested in maintaining the truce felt the need to break one of its most important conditions."

"Trustworthy or not, she's the one supplying my company's paycheck on this job, so I gotta see it through to the end."

"Same for me, old buddy. I told you after we parted ways ten years ago, if we ever crossed paths on opposite sides, I would crush you without hesitation. I honestly expected to find myself in this situation long before now. Sorry Dutch, but I gotta end this." In the blink of an eye and too quickly for Dutch to react, Drake's left arm surged forward and his knife flew towards Dutch, embedding itself in his right bicep. Dutch flinched from the pain, dropping his shotgun, and it was the opening Drake needed to safely draw his gun and line up his shot.

Damn, thought Dutch. So this is how it ends for me. I can at least take some pride in the fact that it took the God of Mercs to finally kill me.

Just as Drake was about to squeeze the trigger, he heard rapid footsteps from behind him. Probably an employee of Dutch. He rushed forward to Dutch and quickly circled behind him, grabbing Dutch's uninjured left arm and twisting it behind his back, putting his gun barrel to the temple of his new hostage.

The newcomer to the fight rounded the corner, screaming. A familiar voice reached Drake's ears.

"ALRIGHT ASSHOLE, I HOPE YOU'VE MADE PEACE WITH YOUR WORTHLESS GOD!" She turned and lifted her two guns and aimed straight down the hallway at him and Dutch. The first thing Drake noticed was the plum colored hair tied back into a ponytail. The second thing was the tribal tattoo on her right shoulder and arm. And then her face. A face he could never forget.

Drake's eyes widened and he manged to breathe a single word.

"Revy?!"

Revy took a moment to analyze the face of the man holding her employer at gunpoint. In an instant, his identity clicked in her head.

"Drake?!" Undortunately, seeing him made her mood go from bad to worse. "YOU SON OF A CUNT! YOU DROP ME OFF IN THAT GODDAMN SLUM OF A TOWN ROANAPUR AND THEN JUST DISAPPEAR FOR OVER A FUCKING DECADE?! YOU GOT A LOT OF FUCKING BALLS SHOWING UP HERE AND HOLDING MY BOSS HOSTAGE! HOW ABOUT I MARCH MY ASS RIGHT OVER THERE AND CUT THEM RIGHT THE FUCK OFF AS PUNISHMENT FOR ABANDONING ME?!"


End file.
